Counting Stones
by wolfpackgirl92
Summary: I used to be relatively normal. At least until the "secret" happened. The secret that no one believes is true. The secret that killed my mother before my very eyes and left me mentally scarred beyond my ability to cope. Now numbers are my friends. They are what will continue to get me through. So why does Seth Clearwater keep bothering me?
1. Ignorance and Anxiety

Back with my next story! Like before, all chapters all edited only by me so sorry for any mistakes, and also SM owns her characters. I'm almost done writing this story, I wrote like crazy to finish it before I finished my other story. I'm working on the epilogue now and having trouble with it, but it will definitely be done by the time we get there lol.

As for my banner, I would be happy with my banner if it weren't for two things. It turns out it's really hard to find plain Native American girls, so I settled for this one. Also, the girl on the banner is a lot prettier than my character. So sorry for those inconsistencies.

New readers: If you didn't read my story _Glimmer_ and want to read this one it will be fine. You won't be confused and Lizzy, one of my characters in that book, is barely mentioned here. You will see a bit of Paul. He's not angry like in the Twilight books, he's calmed down since his imprint Lizzy. So that's why he's different from the Paul you know.

Reviews make me post faster!

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><p>One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six….<p>

I count each step as I walk, the steady rhythm soothing me in a way no person ever could. The numbers go on and on, always predictable and never faltering in my life. Numbers have always kept me calm, but it's gotten worse since my mother died. I shake my head and blink hard, jumping out of the memories before I can truly panic.

I make sure to stop on an even number at my desk, finishing by scooting my feet under the desk and attempting not to pick them up afterwards. Picking them up counts as a step after all, and I don't want to end on an odd number. Odd numbers leave me feeling as if something bad will happen. Odd leaves the breath stuck at the back of my throat, and fingers tapping swiftly against the deck in a nervous haze.

Mrs. Cern is in the front, punctual as always. Some teachers are lax at the Res, allowing student's liberties in their class and sometimes even showing up late. Not Mrs. Cern. She isn't mean, but stern. She's serious about being a teacher here, and one of the big advocates on pushing our Quileute heritage.

I barely know what it means to be Quileute. I know the Quileute tribe was known for making fishing boats and hunting whales and stuff like that, but that's it. It's kind of sad that I know more about other cultures than my own. When you dig up other people's cultures, you learn a lot.

My parents traveled before, not staying anywhere for longer than a few months usually. They were archeologist, and drifted where ever the dust covered wind blew them. That lifestyle stopped when my mother died about three months ago. My father decided to get a real home, and went back to his tribe.

My father is my grandmother's only child, so she was ecstatic when he told her we were coming back. But her demeanor changed after meeting me. I heard her whispering to my dad. I was supposed to be outside, playing or something. I'm not sure what she wanted me to do when she suggested for me to go outside for some fresh air. I'd had fresh air my whole life. I sat on the front stairs, the second step because it was even, and waited for her to say it was okay to come back in. Her words were clear where I sat, disapproving. She blamed my father's way of life for how I was. But it wasn't until the "accident" that I began to be like this. At least not noticeably. My mother's death changed me. I was dangling on the precipice before, and all it took was that one hard shove to make everything fall to crap. I'd always liked numbers, I would usually count my steps and avoid cracks. But I never got worked up about it if I landed on an odd number. It only left me feeling displeased. But now….

I can tell even my therapist thinks I'm a basket case.

My dad makes me get therapy, even though I practically cried trying to convince him not to make me. I didn't want to tell some stranger my issues, watching as they clinically wrote down everything I said and tried to poison me with Xanax, Tofranil, and Nardil. My dad thinks I take my medicine every morning, but really I wash it down the sink and say good riddance. Mom would have never stood for that. Everything was natural with her, and she pushed a healthy lifestyle a lot. It wasn't too hard to follow in her footsteps. After all, digging things up in the middle of Africa doesn't really offer a lot of fast food choices. You're lucky to get seconds when you eat. Exercising was never a problem. I sat in the heat every day and helped my parents on their digs. Most of the time I couldn't actually dig things up, but when I couldn't there was always some job to do. Cleaning the tools. Gathering the dirt everyone excavates. Even cleaning up camp and the work site to keep everything tidy. When I wasn't doing that I was studying. I'd been home schooled my whole life. Going to an actual school with actual kids was a big step. For most of my life I've been around adults. Seeing a child was rare, and meeting a kid that actually spoke my language even more. The tribal school here freaked me out to say the least. All these kids my age were around me, laughing and giggling and _actually understanding what they say to each other_.

I'd never had that before.

I would never tell my dad this but moving here made things worse. My anxiety spiked even higher. I didn't know how to act around people my age, and they knew it. They talked about the way I dressed, the way I spoke, even my mannerisms. It's not my fault I was around adults my whole life, but they seemed to blame me. All of them made fun of me. Girls whispered about the state of my hair, boys laughed about my jumpy nature. And both laughed at my clothes.

I told my dad I needed a wardrobe change after the first day. Normally he would have never complied with such a demand. My clothes were still functional and not stained or with holes. But I guess he really wanted me to situate myself and feel comfortable with this new change.

I realized when I got to the store I had no clue what to pick. I grabbed random clothes that I thought the girls might wear, but when I wore them the next day it made them laugh even more. I gave up after that and kept to myself. Let them whisper. They'll never be able to hurt me the way I hurt after my mother died. The way I still hurt.

Mom kept us glued together. She opened up conversations and made things lively. With her gone dad and I are a bunch of recluses. Sometimes dad leaves a week or two for a dig, but it's not like before. I tried convincing him to bring me, but now that I actually have a school to go to he won't let me.

I want to hate him for it, but I love him too much.

Even though we're both awkward and socially impaired, we're still family. He's the only person I have. Sure, I have grandma. But she'll never understand me like dad does. She's a social creature, the opposite of us and very resolute in her ways. She's a big part of the Quileute community, and people respect her a lot. Grandma gets exasperated with me. She says I could be pretty if I actually tried. But I do try. Mom always told me beauty doesn't matter because when you get old the person you get married to is going to look mighty different. The inside matters more, because that is what will make a person stay. No one ever talked about being pretty before. Sometimes the archaeologist students would bring up some hot celebrity, or someone would comment to another that they look good that day, but that was it. I never thought about being pretty until I moved here. Now it seems so important. People bring it up a lot, and I'm not sure what to make of it.

So I ignore it. I ignore a lot of things people say.


	2. Secrets and Wellness

Some more info about this story. It will contain content about different religions and mental illness. It will be short, eleven chapters long. I will be keeping this story up also and you can come back and read it whenever you please. I will post about every four-six days, more if I get a decent amount of reviews. That's about all I can think of for now. Thanks to lulu and Mrs. A. Northman for reviewing! I wasn't expecting any on my first chapter. :)

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><p>I have a secret.<p>

Not on purpose really, but everyone I told it to looked at me like I was crazy. They said I had Post-traumatic Stress Disorder from watching my mom die and that's why I saw what I did. They do agree that it was an animal, but don't believe me when I described what I saw.

Everything happened so fast. One moment I was walking with my mom back to camp from the dig site and the next a gurgled scream was coming out of her. The gurgling was from blood, she was choking on it. The animal had mauled her throat. I can't really tell you what I felt when I saw that.

Horror? Incomprehension? Shock? Fear?

I don't know. But I _do_ know what I saw, and what I saw was a huge wolf-like creature dragging my mother away. Its mouth had clamped down on her shoulder, her body lifeless.

I didn't do anything to stop it.

I regret that so much. I couldn't understand what I was seeing. I thought my imagination had gone wild, or maybe I was in a dream. I wish I had done _something_.

But I did nothing.

I don't tell anyone that story anymore. I tell them what my dad and therapist tell me. That an animal killed my mother. It's simpler that way. I don't even tell them I was there, because that leads to questions and more sympathetic looks.

I hate sympathy.

Everyone tries to comfort you, and say you're strong and you'll get through this. But they're not me, and they're definitely not the one's waking up with night terrors every other night and OCD so bad that it's taking over their life. They will never understand what it's like to see what I saw, and feel what I feel.

"Ara, are you listening?" My therapists low, calming voice rocks me from my thoughts and I glare. He's always trying to brain wash me one way or another. But I know what I saw, and I'm not crazy. He can't tell me otherwise, no matter how many times he repeats that it's my brain's way of coping.

One heck of a way to cope.

I shrug, staring down at my right shoe. There's a dark smudge on the tip. It makes me want to wipe it off.

"Your shoe is distracting you?"

I scowl, tearing my eyes away from my shoe in annoyance and staring at the walls. I hate that he's so observant.

"Can you tell me again how you feel about your mother?"

I answer, because I figure that wouldn't hurt. "I love her."

"Can you… expand on that?" He twirls his pencil against the clip board, his shiny leather shoes moving to some repetitive, unknown beat.

I blink. "Well, she was the most important person in my life." As much as it throws my dad under the bus to say that. "We could talk about anything. She always helped me when I needed it without even having to ask me. She just always knew. I don't know how. Even when I tried to hide things she always figured it out."

"What kind of things did you try to hide?"

My lip twitches at the question as I debate whether or not to answer. "Just kid stuff," I hedge. "Like if I broke something I wasn't supposed to touch." He doesn't need to know anything else. I wish my dad didn't make me do this. He does know he's basically paying someone to listen to my problems, right? I could tell my dad my problems if they were really bothering me that much.

Dr. Rolph, my therapist, responds neutrally. "Hmm." Everything is neutral with him. He smiles neutrally, no more or less than what is expected of him. He frowns neutrally, the creases so light that at first I thought it was a look of stress. He ask questions in a neutral ton of voice, monotonous and calm in nature. I hate neutral.

"You say you loved your mother?" What kind of dumb question is that?

"Of course."

"What about your father? How do you feel about him?"

"I love him too." I don't know what's with these questions. It's not like I'm some abused kid starved for affection. My mom died, and I saw. That doesn't make it so my parents don't love me. Apparently the annoyance is on my face, because he switches to a different subject.

"How is school?"

"Great." Like I would tell him how much I hate it.

"Can you elaborate on what is 'great' about it?"

I sigh loudly, staring up at the ceiling. "The food is good." That's a lie.

I don't bother to see his expression after I say it. It's always neutral after all.

"Anything else?"

"The people are nice too." More like all of them are jerks.

He evens the papers out in his hand using the desk, nodding as if I said something important that needed a response. "How are your night terrors?"

I flinch. "Who told you that?" Blame is in my voice, because the only people that knew I had night terrors are my dad and grandma.

"It doesn't matter Amara. I-"

"Don't call me that!" I take a shaky breath in, getting up and leaving the office without another word. How dare he call me that? I told him our first session never to call me that again. That name is Mom's. She's the only one that ever called me by my full name.

_"Mom," I whine, lengthening the 'O' in the middle. "Why won't you call me Ara? I want a nickname like everyone else. Daddy does." I tug at the French braid my mother did this morning, the loose hairs flying everywhere._

_She folds the clothes calmly. "Because I named you Amara, and that is what you shall be." I drag my feet towards her, plopping onto the ground next to her and sighing dramatically. She rolls her eyes at me, her lips tipping in an amused smile. "You are Amara, not Ara. I heard the name in Greece on our honeymoon," she says, referring to her and dad. "We went to a play there, and the name Amara was in it. I thought it was lovely. It means _unfading flower_ and you, my sweetheart, will never fade."_

Dad is waiting in the lobby, staring down into a Men's Health magazine. He doesn't seem to be really reading it per say, more like he's analyzing it as if it's some kind of unbreakable code. He stands up when he sees me, the magazine forgotten.

"You're done already?"

"Yes." My answer is tight lipped, my arms tightly held against my chest. It's silent on the drive back. At least before I break it.

"Dad. Did you tell him about my nightmares?"

His upper lip tightens before nodding. "I thought he could help you with them."

"Don't tell him anything!" He startles at my loud voice. We don't yell a lot in my family. I repeat myself, this time much more calm and level headed.

"Why?" he asks.

"Because it's not his business," I answer stubbornly. He laughs a bit, shaking his head.

"I pay him to make it his business."

"And don't you know how ridiculous that is? Dad, you could use your money so much better than that."

"What's better than getting my daughter better?"

"I'm not sick," I say in a wooden voice.

"No," he says softly. "But there is something wrong. I'm trying to help you. It's my job as a father to make sure you're okay, and right now I'm failing." He rubs at his face tiredly. "This was so much easier when your mother was here. She always knew what to do."

Isn't that the truth.

"Well mom's gone. She's not coming back. We have to do it ourselves now." Both me and my father are very pragmatic, and sometimes come across as unfeeling. But we like to think we don't beat around the bush and we say whatever needs to be said despite the fact it might hurt some feelings.

"You're right Ara. What do you want me to do? Tell me what you need me to do to make you better." There's a desperate edge to his voice, a begging quality that is usually only invoked when he needs his sponsors to pitch in more money for a dig.

"Nothing. I'm not sick dad. I don't know how many times I've said that."

"Then what do you call it? Well? That you're well?"

"No," I say reluctantly. "I just say I'm me."

"Ara, this is not you. Not at all." He swallows deeply, his eyes focused on the road.

"This is me now," I respond firmly.

"This is who you want to be?"

The question leaves me feeling empty. No, I don't want to be this way. But I can't help it. This is me now, and the sooner we accept this the faster we can move on.

But I don't want to accept it.

I want to change, I really do. I just can't. It's too hard. It would probably take years if it was possible. It's funny how in one month I can go from a completely functioning individual to a walking disaster. Sometimes I don't know how my dad puts up with me.

"Dad, I love you."

His brows raise in surprise and he glances over to me swiftly before turning back to the road. Taking one hand off the wheel he reaches for mine and squeezes. "I love you too Ara."

It will have to be enough. This will have to be enough. At least for now.


	3. Panic and Numbers

Thanks to Maiannaise, lulu, Love Laugh Live Your Life, and Red Swarm for reviewing!

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><p>School is so repetitive. I do the same thing every day. Get up. Yank a brush through my hair, brush my teeth and get any junk out of my eyes. Walk the fifteen minutes to school. Try to avoid everyone. Get called out anyways. Hope to not get called on my teachers. Usually succeed. Eat lunch. Avoid looking at the guys that look like they're on steroids...<p>

They're frightening to look at, huge. They're all sorts of muscular and strong and tall. Usually they ignore everyone, laughing and joking around at their table. All of them are loud and rambunctious, uncaring of the rest of the school. Usually they don't even send a glance my way.

But today was a little different. I was watching the steroid guys laugh. One of them hit the other on the back hard enough to make him stumble, but he didn't seem to care in the slightest. He brought his head away, casually surveying the parking lot and our eyes meet. I wasn't fast enough to look away. Embarrassment is my first feeling. I can't believe I actually let him catch me staring. But then this… _feeling_ overcomes me. I've never felt anything like it. It made me want to walk across the parking lot up to him and ask him his name. Then I get a hold of myself, shaking my head before looking away. But not before I saw his expression.

It was awe.

Pure awe. As if I was some beautiful, mythical creature that he was amazed by. One of his friends slaps him on the back, and I notice them all pointing to me. I blush harder, hurrying my steps as I walk down the familiar path to my house with my backpack bouncing with every step.

"Hey." A voice says out of nowhere. It's slightly winded. I jump, flinching when I see it's the guy I was staring at.

Great.

"Hi," I mumble.

He gives me a bright smile, as if I said something mind-blowingly brilliant. "So what's your name?"

Should I tell him? Lately I haven't wanted to tell anyone anything. I stare back at the ground, making sure not to lose track of my counting.

Eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two….

He clears his throat, almost forcing me to lose count. Before I realize what I'm doing I glare at him. It's something I'm usually not bold enough to do. Unless you're my counselor of course. He's staring at me, and automatically flinches as if I physically hurt him when he sees the look on my face. "My name's Seth," he mutters, turning to look at the forest. This time, his demeanor has changed. His happy-go-lucky attitude gone and in its place droopy steps and a morose curvature to his back.

"Ara." I feel bad enough to tell him. I don't know why, since no one has ever been nice to me here. The adults are. Maybe that's why I like adults better.

His voice is breathless when he replies. "Ara, that's a pretty name."

I shrug. Everyone else here thinks it's odd. They all either have normal American names or traditional Quileute ones.

One hundred and three, one hundred and four, one hundred and si- five.

I panic. I'm losing my count around him. In a fit of desperation I fling out, "What do you want?" From my peripherals he appears to deflate even more if possible. I don't understand anything right now. I feel like this is some kind of prank.

"Nothing, I don't want anything from you," he whispers.

One hundred and ten.

"Except-"

One hundred and eleven.

"I would really like a date."

One hundred and- what?

I stare at him in a mixture of incredulous and anger. "Just leave me alone. You've had your fun. You call tell all your friends you did whatever you were supposed to do to me okay?" I begin walking again, but immediately stop.

I've forgotten my number.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, I would never hurt you." My number. I need to know my number. I can't get home without it. It was one hundred and five? Two? "You don't look to good." I barely glance at him, too stuck in my panic. I can't get home. I can't get home. "Okay, breathe. Listen to me. Are you listening? Cue into my voice. Come on, that's it."

When I'm finally able to notice my surroundings I see him staring terrified at me despite his even tone. I'm hyperventilating, coming back down from a panic attack. "My number," I gasps out. "I lost it. You made me lose it," I moan out.

I don't think about what the kids at school are going to say tomorrow when Seth tells them all about this. I don't think about how everyone will think I really am crazy. All I can think about is how my number is gone, and I burst into tears.

"It's okay, it's okay." A gentle hand caresses my back in some attempt to calm me down. I can barely breathe. It makes me panic even more.

"I want my dad," I burst out, gripping at my hair and rocking back and forth.

"Your dad? Okay we can do that. Where is your dad?"

It takes me a moment to respond, to pull air into my lungs. "Home," is my short answer. He picks me up in his arms and starts jogging down the road. Immediately my anxiety lessons. I don't have to take the steps, he's taking them for me. A sense of calmness filters through me. Now all that's bothering me is the fact that I don't know if the number I left off on is even or odd.

"I'm guessing home is this way. I can get you home," he promises.

"You made me lose my number," I grumble, a hitch in my breath. He stares down at me.

"Your number?"

I swallow, not answering. He's already going to think I'm insane. I can't tell him anymore. I won't.

It's at this exact moment I notice the position I'm in. My arms are wrapped around his neck and my body close to his. This is the closest I've ever been to a male outside of my family. I feel….

Uncomfortable.

"Put me down." My demand is breathless, but strong. I can start my counting over now. He picked me up, everything is new.

"Uh." I can tell he's unsure what to do, but he does stop running. "I can get you home," he says helpfully.

"So can I. Put me down."

He stares into my eyes, a look on his face I'm not too sure I like at this moment.

"Down," I say forcefully.

He carefully places me on the ground as if I'm so fragile I'll break into a million pieces. Then he takes a tiny step back, his arms dangle awkwardly before he grasp them together in a weak hold. "You're okay?"

One. Two.

"I'm fine." This time I'm determined not to lose count. He slowly trails after me, and I'm barely willing to give him a second glance. Why won't he go away?

"If I did something I'm sorry." He pauses for a moment. "If you tell me what it was I can avoid doing it again," he says helpfully.

"No, goodbye."

Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.

"But, look. What do I have to do to get you to give me a chance? At least be my friend."

Seventeen. Eighteen.

"Why?"

I can tell he's taken aback by my question. "Why?" he sputters out. "Because, because, well why not?"

Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three.

"Because I've lived here for more than two months and you only bothered now." I can tell I've stumped him because he remains silent.

"Only because it took me this long to notice you." His voice sounds pitiful even to my ears. I chance a glance back at him and immediately feel bad. It looks as if I kicked a puppy dog.

"Fine. We can be friends." It's not like this will last long, or like I can trust him. I still feel as if he's trying to pull something on me.

"Friends," he repeats, the happy tone back in his voice. "Well friends walk friends home," he declares.

Thirty-five.

"Sure," I mutter, determined to not lose my number this time.

Fourty. Fourty-one. Fourty-two.

My door stands in front of me, the color a dark green and slightly stained with grime. I run my hand over it, before flinging my palm as if I touched some fatal disease.

"This is your house?"

I refuse to turn around. I'm even right now. "Yes, and I would appreciate if you kept that to yourself." Who am I kidding? No one would bother me at my house. I may be a social pariah, but my grandmother is practically a goddess here. No one would dare touch the house of someone related to my grandmother.

"Wait, you're related to Elder Onawa?" Of course he's shocked. Everyone is shocked when they hear that. I'm nothing like her.

"Yes, my last name is Onawa," I answer shortly. It's starting to get awkward talking to a door.

"Ara Onawa," he whispers reverently.

It must be all the steroids getting to his brain.

"Um, yeah. Goodbye." I slam the door shut, and hear him whisper the same before walking down the dirt paved street.

Tomorrow is going to be hell.


	4. Dreams and Friends

Thanks to Maiannaise, G Reader1, and Guest for reviewing!

Comments

Love Laugh Live Your Life- In this story you get Seth's POV once! I think it's the next chapter. ;)

coveryoureyes- Thank you!

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><p>Almost every night I wake up from the same dream. I have to remember all the blood, confusion, and fear. I have to recall just how helpless I am when it really matters.<p>

It was night out. The air was humid, but much more breathable now that the sun had gone down. I remember looking up at the moon and listening to the sounds of the forest, thinking how beautiful everything was.

My mother and I had stayed behind to put up some of the tools. We had excavated something amazing, a clay tablet with a language we had never encountered before. It had led to us breaking protocol and staying a bit later than usual to dig up the remains in our excitement. My mother and I volunteered to stay back in order to clean the tools so that my dad and two other colleagues could start on dinner. We finished washing them and put all of them away before starting our fifteen minute trek back to camp. We were talking about everything and nothing. The words meant a lot to us, but nothing to a stranger.

About five minutes in I began to feel like we were being watching. I tugged on my mother's arm, and gestured with a hand to the forest surrounding us. Immediately she caught on, slightly speeding up her steps and attempting to glance around without drawing attention to the fact that she was. We weren't sure if it was a human or animal. Sometimes humans are just as dangerous as animals, sometimes worse. We weren't in a country of political unrest. The people here were happy and kind. At least they seemed to be. They welcomed us with open arms and even fed us the first night we came here. We didn't speak their language, like usual, but we still had fun despite the language barrier.

One blink was all it took.

I was carefully staring into what I thought was a suspicious bush. After I blinked my mother's blood-filled gurgle filled the air and when I turned around the creature was dragging her off.

I stared at first, attempting to understand what I was seeing. The hair was a dark brown, and lanky, matted down with dirt and grime. The eyes staring at me were yellow, like the moon that filled the sky. It ceased movement once our eyes met, the space above its eye moving about like one could imagine eyebrows doing. Those eyes showed me a glimpse of the beast. Pain, confusion, suffering, and even fear was clear to see. Then, as if the moment was broken, its eyes turned away. It got a better grip on my mother, pulling her further into its mouth forcing a weak groan out of her. Then turned so swiftly my eyes couldn't follow it. A crack resonated in the air, and my mother became still. Our eyes met once more, and then it disappeared.

I stared where it vanished into the thick underbrush in disbelief. My fist clenching and unclenching over and over, and my breathing speeding up.

It's just a dream. It's just a dream. It's just a… my foot slips and I fall to the ground. I stand up shakily and feel something sticky and moist on my hands.

Blood. I'm sitting in blood.

"Come on Amara, you can do this," I whisper to myself. "This is all just a dream and when you wake up you'll forget about all of this." I scrunch my eyes closed, resisting the urge to wipe of the drying, coagulating blood off my hands and onto my shirt. Pinching myself does nothing, so does closing my eyes. "Okay, we'll go to camp and sleep. When I wake up everything will be normal," I promise myself.

But I can't make myself take another step. I'm frozen, too afraid to even move my foot one inch.

The ground is wet with the dark liquid. If I didn't know that it was blood I would think it was water or something similar. Taking a deep breath in I attempt to calm myself.

What if the monster comes back?

My eyes shoot wide open and I stare once more where the creature disappeared. I turn my face to the ground, counting as I go. One. Two. Three. Four.

The dream always ends at camp, to my fathers horrified expression as he sends two people down the path I came from. This is the worst part. Because it's where he tells me that it wasn't just a bad dream.

It was all real.

When I got to school the next day I was practically ready for the apocalypse. I was expecting taunting and pointed fingers at me, accompanied with cruel laughs. They had fresh material to tease me about.

But it is no worse than any other day.

Actually it was better. But I didn't _feel_ better about it. Most of the teasing had stopped by the time lunch came. Seth's friends were enforcing some new regime, a regime that did not include people teasing me. It was like some alternate reality, where the opposite of what is normal happens. Even Mrs. Cern was odd. She didn't come to school today at all. It was the first time that had ever happened. Even when she was sick she came, holding a box of tissues to her chest and scratching the lesson plan onto the board with the too loud chalk.

Today just doesn't feel right.

Instead of feeling happy about the fact that I was no longer verbally abused by everyone I crossed paths with, I felt angry. Seth has no right to interfere with my life. I never asked him to. I never implied that I wanted it done in our two second conversation.

So why did he feel like he had the right to push himself into my life? I don't need anyone's help, and I'm getting by with my dad just fine.

Seth didn't make an appearance until lunch, giving me a bright smile as if he didn't just turn my life on its axis.

"Would you like to sit with me today?" He glances at the empty chairs next to me with a frown. It feels like he is judging me for my lack of friends.

"No," I answer shortly, turning away from him and placing some of the too processed potatoes into my mouth. He doesn't leave, hovering awkwardly in my peripherals.

"Can I sit with you then?"

"Negative." I dig my spork into the potatoes again and repeat the process. He shifts his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet.

The next time he speaks it has that pitiful begging quality that makes me feel like I'm a bad person for causing the sound. "Please?" A moment's pause. "You said that we could be friends."

"That was before you interfered with my life. I didn't ask for help, you just decided that for me." I glare at him poignantly before turning back to my food. He sighs tiredly, sitting down across from me.

"So you're saying you'd rather have everyone make fun of you? I don't understand. You couldn't have liked that."

"I didn't ask for your help Seth, now leave me alone."

"But why would you like that?" he stresses.

I scowl, finally bringing my eyes to his. I don't like to do that, because it makes me feel like I'm an actual girl or something. Our eye contact is brief but needed. "Because I didn't _ask_ you. I'm not some helpless damsel in distress that needs someone to save her."

A voice in the back of my head denies my claim, saying that I actually did need it. I never stood up for myself, and I certainly never fought back.

I silence that voice quickly.

"I'm sorry, I thought you would be happy. I don't like it when people hurt you." He really does sound apologetic. Too bad I'm wrapped up in that last sentence he said.

"You don't like it when people hurt me?" I repeat. "I do not concern you. You don't even know me. So you saw me have a panic attack, that doesn't make us best friends."

"But we're friends. Friends help friends. I was only helping you."

"But I did not ask for help! What do you not understand about that?" Embarrassment fills me when I realize how loud I yelled. The whole cafeteria is staring at me, most of them snickering and pointing my way. My cheeks burn and I send one last glare at Seth, letting him know this is all his fault. He's like a wounded puppy, his eyes suspiciously watering as I walk away.

People leave me alone the rest of the day. All they do is whisper and point. It is an improvement even if I don't want to admit it. Why can't I admit it? Maybe Seth did overstep his bounds, but he did it to help me. Do friends really do that?

I'm stunned to realize I don't know the answer. I've never had a friend before, not a real one. Not one my age.

"Dad, what do friends do?" My question startles him and he stops washing the dishes.

"Well, they help each other out and they're there for them. Why?" He begins the circular motion again, round and around the plate and then repeats the process on the back.

"Because, um, someone that wants to be friends with me helped me out. But I didn't want him to. He never asked."

"Was this… help, important?"

My face scrunches up as if I've just eaten something sour. "Kind of. I didn't like it, but I wasn't too upset with it. I had- I had gotten used to it."

He humphs, shrugging his shoulders as he rinses the dish. "Seems like he helped you then. He fixed something you didn't like and you only put up with. Say, is this boy a boyfriend?" He sends a pointed look at me.

"No!" I vehemently deny, shaking my head so hard that my ponytail partially falls out. I shove the strands out of my face and behind my ears.

"If you get a boyfriend I don't mind. Although I'm not very certain on how to do the boyfriend talk. We'll figure it out when we get there."

I breathe out, my face reddening as I hide behind my hands. "We don't have to talk about this dad."

"Okay, Okay. I was just saying. You're a teenager now. It's going to happen eventually."

"Maybe." I've never thought about dating anyone before. I liked my share of stories where people get their happy ending, but I've never thought about my own. It's always seemed so distant and far away.

"Well when that day happens don't be afraid to come to me. I know moving around was hard on you Ara."

"No it wasn't," I deny. "I liked it." Everything was always different and fun. You never knew what would happen every day. Sometimes it was scary, especially when we excavated in dangerous regions. But most of the time we were digging in the middle of nowhere and we only had to pass through villages and cities.

"Do you like anything here?"

"The ocean?" I've seen many oceans, but some of the places here are really beautiful. I have a photo album I stuff under my bed filled with all the places I've been. Most of them are pictures of nature, but a few of them are me with my family; sometimes my parent's colleagues and graduate students too.

"The ocean is beautiful, isn't it? I grew up here, so sometimes I forget how picturesque La Push can be," he says in a soft voice, stuck in what seems to be memories. His hands cease its movements across the dish before starting up again with vigor, as if trying to erase some thought or notion.

"Well I'm going to bed dad. See you in the morning," I whisper. He nods to me, a content smile of his face after I say the words.

Having friends is a lot more complicated than I thought it would be.


	5. Trust and Religion

Six more chapters till the end. This is the only chapter with a Seth POV, so enjoy it! :D

Thanks to Winterlover6 and Love Laugh Live Your Life for reviewing!

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><p>Seth POV<p>

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><p>I thought imprinting would be less confusing.<p>

When I first saw her, so many things ran across my mind. 'This girl is the one for me.' 'I'm going to love her with everything I have.' 'I'm going to make her happy.' 'Every day she will smile and laugh, and I will be the reason why.' I could see our future. Little children running around, and us laying down on the cool grass telling each other how wonderful our life is. It would be perfect. It would be sublime.

It was none of that.

She hates me. She hates me and I don't know why. At first I thought maybe she was having feelings for me that confused her because of the imprint, but her eyes never looked anything like Emily's, Kim's, or Lizzy's; not even Claire's. She's only angry. I make her angry, and I don't know how to fix it.

The first time I saw her was across the parking lot. Imprinting is tricky, you never know who your imprint is until you look into their eyes. Paul felt something with Lizzy when she was a ghost, but we're not really sure if that is because he fell in love with Lizzy before the imprint or what. I saw my imprint around before, but never looked into her eyes. I remember Quil thinking about her for one quick moment during a run. He felt bad because everyone is so horrible to her. But it's not our job to protect humans from humans. We protect humans from the supernatural. Sam enforced that after an incident we had where Embry tried to help someone that was having a hard time. The guy wanted to be friends with Embry after, but we can't do that. It only hurt the guy more. Now we sit on the sidelines, and Sam said we're only allowed to get involved if it's a fist fight and one of them is getting the crap beat out of them.

We saw her, who couldn't? She was practically the pariah of the Res. Everyone made fun of her. We felt bad, but we weren't allowed to do anything. It was a human matter.

After reviewing everyone's memories of her in an attempt to understand her more, I found out her clothing of choice always seems to be something along the line of a pair of khakis, a baggy shirt, and worn sneakers. Her hair was always messy, thrown up in either a braid, bun, or ponytail. You can't always help what crosses your mind, and I know the pack didn't mean to be hurtful or anything, but they all thought that she was really... plain. Some of the un-imprinted wolves like to compare imprints. Lizzy is beautiful, more beautiful than should be possible. The guys always say her best feature is her face. Kim is quiet, a book worm through and through. Often you can see her clutching the spine of some romance book, pushing her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose with furrowed brows. Kim's best feature happens to be her rear. She doesn't show it off, she doesn't really show any part of her body off, but you can see it.

At least that's what the guys say.

Before Lizzy everyone said Emily had the best eyes, but now everyone is divided. Half say Emily's warm chocolate brown are the best, others say Lizzy's light green are. Regardless, they all agree that Emily has the best legs. My imprint apparently has the best breast. I do not want to get into the description they gave. It made me angry, jealous, and feel all sorts of other negative emotions. I wasn't happy at all.

I don't understand my imprint. I could hear how fast her heart began to beat when I first approached her. At first I thought it was because she was nervous around me, but then I realized it wasn't the type of nervous that I wanted.

I really do think she hates me.

I made her have a panic attack. I don't know what I did, she kept mumbling about me making her lose her number. I don't even know what that means! I had always hoped to imprint, something is just so beautiful about it. Imprinting is not perfect. Sometimes they fight; sometimes they can't even stand each other. But the looks on their faces and the thoughts I hear in my head make everything seem to be worth it.

I really want to love Ara.

She won't let me. She won't even give me a chance. I thought imprinting would be, I don't know, easier? But I swear it's one of the hardest things in the world. What holds me over is if we make it over this bump then we'll have the beautiful love my pack brothers have.

I can't wait for that day.

I won't give up on her. I won't let her hide in the shadows anymore. One day I will hold her and tell her just how much she means to me. Words are shallow compared to this feeling, but I'll try.

I hope one day she'll feel for me the things I feel for her.

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><p>Ara POV<p>

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><p>"Your dreams are always the same?"<p>

"Yes."

"Since your mother passing you've dreamed of nothing else?"

"Sometimes I dream normal stuff, but that's rare."

Dr. Rolph taps his pencil eraser on the clipboard, nodding his head slowly. The room is too dim, the lighting more of a yellow than a white. I don't like it, but then again I don't like many things about this room, or therapy in general.

"I heard your mother's birthday passed. How was that?"

My faces moves in opposite directions at the question, unsure what kind of expression to make. They never recovered all of my mother's body. They found a hand. Her wedding ring was on it so it was how we identified it. I wear it on a chain around my neck and never take it off. They found a few gnawed bones too, which they DNA tested to be hers. But that's it.

"We cremated the little remains we had. All me and my dad did was talk about her and make her favorite blueberry pancakes." We spread my mother's remains off a cliff in Positano, Italy about a month after the attack. We had passed through the town on one of our digs and she fell in love with the place. We thought she would like being put to rest there since she cherished it so much.

"What was your mother like?"

"She was levelheaded, and strong. She never got angry, at least I never saw her angry. Whenever I did something wrong she would use this really calming voice, and the look on her face would make me feel so guilty that I generally wouldn't do it again. She usually made all the decisions for the family."

"What did she think of you?" What kind of question is that?

"I don't know. Is out time up yet?" I ask annoyed.

"We can end early if you'd like."

It's a general rule of thumb that we end early.

"Yeah," I murmur, standing up to stretch. These meetings are so pointless. They don't help me. They don't make me feel better. All they do is make me irritated. I've told my dad this but all he says is I have to give it a chance, that a lot of people have gotten better with therapy. I just glad he doesn't think I'm crazy enough to stick me into a Psyc. Hospital.

I can tell grandma thinks I need to go to one. That, or pray for help from my ancestors or the creators. I've never prayed to anything before. I like thinking that there's a god after death, waiting to take you into their arms and away from the hard life you lived on earth. My dad's faith is the Quileute one. A lot of people picked up the Christian faith in his tribe after the first settlers went through the Native American villages. The white settlers concentrated on the young. I suppose it was smart of them since the young is the future.

But some still hold to the old ways, and there's more than there used to be. At least that's what grandma says. For my mom, she was kind of like me. She's Native American like my dad, but she's not sure what kind. Her parents put her up for adoption when she was a baby so she never got introduced to her heritage or people. Her adoptive parents were Christians, but she always felt like she didn't fit in. When she got older she took bits and pieces from each religion she liked. My grandparents told her that she can't do that. It's not the way to salvation, and she won't get to any sort of heaven that way. My mom didn't care.

My mother always told me each religion has something important to give to the world, and blocking ourselves from all of them can only hurt us. She took from Christianity several of the Ten Commandments. I remember thou shall not kill and thou shall not covet she liked stressing to me. From Buddhism she took parts of the Noble Eightfold Path: speaking in a way to others that is not hurtful and acting in non-harmful ways. For the religion of Islam she took a concept called Alms-giving, which is giving to the needy and poor. The list goes on of what she took from each religion, but the concept stays the same.

It always points to doing good.

She would take the best parts of each religion and live her life that way. She didn't do it because she thought if she prayed to them all and studied parts of each of them she would please the "right god," but because she wanted to do good for the world.

Now I worry about her decision. I hope she is happy in the afterlife, and that she no longer has pain. Throughout all of this it's what helped me keep going. If I found out life after death was just as hard I'm not sure how I would cope.

I've never thought about finding a religion, but I think about it a lot now.

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><p>"You left early yesterday. Where did you go?" It's the first thing out of Seth's mouth when he sees me at lunch the next day. His eyes are wild, and accessing me for any visible damage with desperation. It unnerves me.<p>

"I had an appointment." It's not like I'm going to tell him I had to go to therapy. "Besides, if you want to be my friend we have to talk." His face calms when he realizes nothing is wrong with me and sits down, nodding his head as he waits for me to speak. I clear my throat. "If you're serious about this friend thing, then there's something you're going to have to agree to. You can't just guess what you think I would like to have happen to me. I don't like that you just jumped into my life and your first thought was to clean up some of the more imperfect things about it."

"How is people teasing you-" He decides to change what he's saying when he sees the look on my face. "Okay, next time I'll ask," he agrees readily. I smile at him and it's like I've given him everything he'd ever need in life.

It's disgruntling.

"And you have to stop making that face," I add on a second note, pointing at him with my school regulated spork. Immediately his expression changes to confusion, his bottom lip slightly jutting up and his brows furrowing.

"What look?"

"The look you just did."

"What look did I do?"

"I don't know, I can't do it," I bite out in frustration. I sigh, rubbing my hand over my face. "Never mind." He doesn't look any happier than me.

Seth is all sorts of confusing.

"So," I say with all the expectations of the world. "What do you want to do now that we're friends?" I make sure to put air quotes around the word friends, because that word is kind of blurry to me right now.

"We can do twenty questions?"

"How do you play that?"

"You just ask each other questions."

"Then why don't you just say we can ask each other questions?"

He groans, taking a hand and rubbing it down his face. I suppose I am being difficult. "Just ask me a question," I mutter, feeling bad.

He straightens up, leveling his eyes with mine. "What's your favorite food?"

"I don't have one."

"Okay," he says awkwardly. "Favorite color?"

"Don't have one of those either." I'm not being difficult, I just don't have many favorites. He seems to deflate, staring down at the linoleum table. "My favorite changes from day to day. Today my favorite color is sky blue, yesterday was dark green. Who knows what it will be tomorrow." He perks up once he sees I'm not doing it on purpose.

"Do you have a favorite anything?"

"I have a favorite candy: mint." I'm not very hard to please. I eat just about anything and wear anything as long as it covers what it's supposed to cover. He stares at me with an odd look in his eyes, something lurking in his eyes that I don't quite understand.

"I'm going to be level with you," he starts. "I-I really like you, and I want to be your friend. But I want to be more than that too. You were honest with me, telling me what you wanted. Now I'm being honest with you. I don't expect you to jump into a relationship, but I want you to know whenever you're ready for one I'm here." I can tell it took him a lot of courage to say that from the wobbly smile he sends to me afterwards.

I begin to count my breaths in a nervous fit. One. In, out. Two. In, out. Until I'm am composed once more. When I'm calm I open my eyes to see his worried face peering into mine.

Like I said before I never thought much about beauty, but I know when someone is attractive. Seth doesn't appear handsome at first glance. He's not ugly or plain, but he's not a heartthrob either. It doesn't stop the girls from giggling as he passes, as any of his friends pass really. The muscles seem to be doing miracles.

But the more I look at him, the more attractive I think he is. It started with his smile. It made me feel things I didn't want to feel. And he just _looks so happy_. I'm not a very happy person and I didn't want to ruin that, not for him. When he smiles, it's beautiful. It's like the sun is coming out and it's saying everything will be alright. I don't want to trust that smile, because I don't know if it's telling the truth. I want to believe him so bad, but I'm afraid. Everyone here hates me, and suddenly he wants to be best friends? He never did anything before, he didn't even look at me.

"Why now?" I finally asks.

"Because I'm stupid. So, so stupid." He rakes a hand through his hair with a scowl. "I didn't pay attention. If I had I would have been at this table the very first day." Anger streaks through his face for a moment before that lazy, facetious smile comes back making me warm all over again.

Screw it, I don't care if he's messing with me. At least I'll be happy for now.

"I want to be friends with you Seth, but I don't want to be in a relationship. Not yet at least." Relationships scare me. I've never been in one and I think the unknown is what makes me afraid. I don't have a clue what to do in a relationship. Every person I know is either married or has decided on singledom for the rest of their life. I've never witnessed the in-between. I've seen people dating, but I never got to meet or be friends with them. I don't know how it works. Every culture is different, and I've been immersed in so many. Before agreeing to date Seth, I think I'll people watch in order to figure out what to do. It's just embarrassing to ask someone that. I would have asked my mom, but now she's gone.

Immediately that smile makes an appearance on his face, and I can't help but to smile myself. It's like some odd form of hypnosis.

"Good," he grins and repeats it once more for good measure. "But I have a question. I think I did something to you, I don't exactly understand what." My smile falls. "It's something about numbers! What did I do to your numbers?" he hurries to get out.

My lips tremble, unsure what to say. Dad's conversation pops up in my head and I decide to go out on a limb. Leaning over I say, "It was-um, I'm a bit OCD?" It's more of a question than an answer, an awkward laugh coming out with the proclamation. "I have to count my steps and when I was talking to you I lost track and kind of freaked out. Sorry."

His cheek twitches, his face solemn as he thinks this over. At least he's not laughing or running away. "So OCD is when you're obsessed with something right?" He amends his words after my wince. "I mean, you fixate on it?" By the way he says fixate I can tell it's not a normal part of his vocabulary. It's almost as if he's asking if he used it correctly.

"Yes," I agree. "I fixate on things and I can't help it. I fixate, and when I fixate I have a compulsion to do something. With me, it's numbers."

"What happens if you don't fixate?"

"It's not possible. My brain just automatically does it," I say simply. By the look on his face he doesn't like the sound of that.

"Why do you fixate?"

I laugh, the sound more bitter than happy. "My therapist says it's to help cope." I realize right after that I told him what I didn't want to, that I go to a therapist. I instantly begin to freak out. My counting starts up, keeping track of the taps my foot makes on the floor. The beat is even and well timed, mid-tempo.

But he doesn't look bothered.

"Do you need help with something? What do you need to cope with? I can help." If anything he looks worried. His voice is desperate and he reaches over to grab my hand but thinks better of it the last second. A blush sits on his russet skin and he stares at the table silent, waiting for me to reply.

"I don't want to tell you," I say honestly. I'm not really up for a heart to heart about how screwed up I am and how my mother died. He doesn't look happy with my answer, but he holds his tongue.

"Well if you ever want to talk I'm always here," he murmurs.

Maybe one day I'll trust him, but that day is not today.

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><p>an: This will be where the warning comes in. As you see I don't push a religion, but I know some people don't want to hear about stuff like this. The main character will be getting more involved with the Quileute religion, so I just wanted to warn any readers right now about this in case they don't like that sort of thing.


	6. Questions and Legends

So I finally finished the ending, and Seth ended up in it. So there's that for the people who like having Seth's perspective. Thank you to everyone that reviewed!

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><p>"Grandma, what do the Quileute believe in?" I know my father prays to the creator, but that's it. He doesn't really talk much about his religion, and I feel odd asking him about it for some reason.<p>

"Hmm." She pauses her bread kneading, staring up at the ceiling in thought. "Do this for me _ipa_. My hands are old and gnarled, and yours are young."

Grandma has been squeezing in Quileute whenever she can in an attempt to teach me the language. I don't really know what _ipa,_ or anything else she says, means. I never ask. I lean over to help her, kneading the dough with expert hands. Living in the middle of nowhere can teach you a lot of household skills.

"We lost much of our religious practices once the Europeans came, but we have tried to rebuild what we have lost." She takes me in, watching me carefully with those knowing eyes of hers. "We believe each person has a guardian, and we pray to them. We also pray to the sun and _Tsikáti_."

"Tsakali?" I mangle the word bad enough for my grandmother to wince.

"No, _Tsikáti_. The universe." She points up in the air, waving her hand around.

"Okay, so we pray to our guardian, the sun, and the universe?"

"_Tsikáti_," she repeats exasperated.

"Tsikali," I attempt. She reiterates it again and this time I get. A satisfied expression spreads on my grandmother's face and she sits down at the table, rubbing at her right knee. "What is our guardian for?"

"Our guardians are supposed to protect us and do what's best for us. A guardian can be human, animal, or spirit. It doesn't matter.*"

"How do you know who your guardian is?" Out of all the religions I've heard before I've never heard anything like this.

"Meditation. Many people went to A-Ka-Lat to mediate and be around the spirits of our dead chiefs. It is one of our most holy places."

"You mean the island that the dead chiefs are buried at? James Island?"

Her face is one of annoyance when I ask her that question. "No," she says stubbornly. "Before it was James Island, it was A-Ka-Lat."

"A-Ka-Lat," I repeat softly. At least I can say that easily enough. "Does it mean anything?"

Her eyes are laughing when she answers. "Top of the Rock. Quileute is very simple if you'd only try it. If we want to name a blue ball, we call it blue ball. People get a little more complicated, but their name would always show some part of their character. For instance, you would probably be named something like _Shipaya'wa**_, which means shy or timid." She laughs. "I should start calling you _Shipaya'wa_ insead of my _ipa_."

"What is _ipa_?"

"Child," she answers simply.

"Did some people never figure out their guardian?" The question has been bothering me since she explained what guardians are.

"Yes, in order to find yours you must do a quest or meditate. I found mine through a journey when I was younger. It was a journey of enlightenment. I walked off into the woods and lived off the lands for almost three months. When I came back I was a new woman. I was confused before, unsure if I wanted to be Christian like my mother and father or take the Quileute religion like the elders were stressing."

Okay, so maybe I know how to live off the land but I never had to _completely_ live off of it. We always had supplies, and other people around us. I don't think I could survive that.

"Tell me, what is with all these questions?" Her voice is suspicious.

I throw more flour onto the dough to make it less sticky before beginning my kneading again. How am I supposed to tell my grandmother I'm having some sort of religious break down?

"Is this about your mother?"

I stop my movements immediately, staring wide eyed at grandma. I'm too shocked to even panic. Her all too knowing eyes stare into mine and her lips form a straight line before nodding.

"Your mother was a wonderful woman Amara." I'm too stunned to dispute the use of my full name. "I don't think she had a mean bone in her body. Whatever her beliefs were, I'm sure she is sitting in the afterlife happily."

"But that's just it," I burst out. "She doesn't have a belief!" The dough is now long forgotten and my breathing has sped up enough that I am gasping.

"Nonsense, everyone believes in something."

"Not my mother," I digress. "She picked her favorite parts of each religion and lived like that. No one will take her to heaven or the afterlife or anything living like that!" Tears are in my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. The dried dough on my hands is uncomfortable, so I begin to rub them together in an attempt to get some of it off and avoid my grandmother's eyes. "Maybe if I pray everything will be okay. Maybe some god will take her if I pray and do as they command." I blink hard, staring up at the ceiling to stop the water attempting to fall out of my eye.

"Ara," grandma says softly. "I-" She's cut off before she can respond by a loud, resounding knock. She turns to look at the door before glancing back to me with a sigh. "I'll be right back Ara, you don't need to worry about all this."

"Someone needs to," I retort. She repeats not to worry before going to open the door. The loud knocking is heard once more before she opens it.

"Paul Lahote! How are you?" my grandmother asks warmly. The man responds in a deep voice, low enough that I cannot hear him. I hurry to place the dough in a bowl and put a cloth over it before placing it in the microwave for it to rise. I wash off the counter in a flurry and rush out the door.

"I'm going to leave grandma. I'll talk to you later."

She gives me a look. "We'll talk about this later Ara," she promises.

I turn away from her but not before looking at Paul. I think I've seen him with Seth before, I'm not sure. But he sure does look like the kind of person Seth would hang out with. All of Seth's friends are big, muscles on top of muscles. Some people say they're a gang on steroids and all that stuff, but the rumors seem to be dying down. They do too much good for the tribe for anyone to think too maliciously of them. They're eccentric, sure. But not bad people.

Paul Lahote and Sam Uley seem to be the most notable of the group. Paul has been helping renovate our culture, and Sam leads his group to helping around the Res. Sam works some kind of construction business. His prices aren't too expensive and when he can afford it he helps fix some important building or structure of the tribe. Jacob Black is another one still talked about. Apparently it was some huge scandal when he left the tribe, being an Elder's kid and all. All of Billy Black's children left the tribe and people seemed to take it as some flaw to the man's character.

Paul Lahote's eyes are thoughtful as they look me over, but he turns back over to the conversation with grandma easily enough. They're talking in Quileute, so I have no clue what they're saying.

Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

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><p>After giving Seth a chance I found out he's not as bad as I thought. He has a bad habit or prying, but drops the subject when he sees me starting to get worked up. After a week we began hanging out after school, something I had never done before.<p>

He's really understanding about my problems. All he ever wants to do is help me with them. There's never a teasing expression when I try to explain them. He's always serious when it comes to me, nodding when he can and listening carefully.

I've never had someone my age to talk to. I like it. I like it a lot.

I'm not sure what my dad thinks of him, but grandma is over the sun about my friendship with him. The one time I brought him with me to grandma's her grin practically split her face, eyes dancing between the two of us. She gave Seth her signature knowing look. Seth looked uncomfortable, swallowing thickly before attempting to hurry the visit up and get out of there. I didn't question him. Half the Res kids are terrified of my grandmother for some reason.

People talk. They stare at me as if waiting for Seth to drop his façade. Honestly, I'm waiting too. The thought doesn't seem to bother me because although I know I'll be sad afterwards, this is the happiest I've been since mom died.

After being friends for him for three weeks I let him hold my hand.

It was clammy, but warm all the same time. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach and I felt so happy that for a moment I forgot all my problems.

I even forgot to count.

It startled me at first, but this time I didn't have a panic attack. Seth saw the look on my face and stopped it right in its tracks. We stood there for a moment, staring into each other's eyes, and I took a step starting all over again. It didn't matter that I messed up, or that I might have stopped on an odd number. All that mattered was the feeling that I had when I stared into Seth's eyes.

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><p>Some corrections on the starred things.<p>

*- It might be human, animal, and spirit. It might just be ancestors. I couldn't find more information on it, so I guessed based on their legends and religion.

**- Shipaya'wa is a word I made up since so few words of Quileute are on the web. I looked at their alphabet and the "Sh" sound is "Shipa" while "Y" is "ya'wa." I just used the word shy and said it like one would in Quileute pronouciation.


	7. Loneliness and Turmoil

Thanks to everyone that reviewed! If I cannot email you a response it will go on the top here.

Comments:

Guest: Oh gosh all those questions for me lol. You don't have an account so I can't message you all of them. You will find out what happened to Ara's mom, and Ara's reaction to Seth too. Her dad has already accepted that his wife died by an animal attack. Ara isn't going to tell him about Seth because being a shifter is kept a secret. The only thing I don't have is more of a back story to her grandma. After I first read your review I thought I might do a one-shot on her, but then I decided I should sneak a chapter with her POV before chapter 11. So now the story is officially 12 chapters long. I hope you like that chapter. It's for you!

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><p>Throughout our whole friendship I had somehow managed to avoid meeting Seth's friends. I'll admit it, I'm terrified of them. They're so big and overwhelming, with no concept of personal space whatsoever. I worry so much about meeting them and then having a panic attack it's not funny.<p>

"You can't avoid them forever," Seth counters.

"No, but I can try." I'd figured out very soon in our friendship that if I pushed hard enough I would always get my way. But this time Seth was not budging.

"Look, why don't you meet them all at the bonfire. Old Billy will repeat all the legends. It will be fun. We can roast marshmallows and stuff," he pleads, reaching over the table to grab my hand. We haven't done anything other than than hold hands. In fact, I'm not sure if Seth means it in any romantic sort of way at all. He never mentioned wanting to be in a relationship again after that first day.

But I mean it.

"I already know all the legends." My grandmother had made sure of that. Her granddaughter may not know the language and barely know the culture, but at least she can say I know all the legends.

"All of them?" he stresses.

"Yes."

"Even the one about _Dask'iya_?" He pauses for a moment. "About the third wife?"

"Yep, and is Daskiya even a legend? I thought it was just a tale to scare kids with."

"Your accent is horrible." A teasing smile is on his face and I roll my eyes. "Kind of, I mean a legend can be a child's tale too."

I remember my dad used to tell me about _Dask'iya_ when I was little. He told me if I didn't behave an ogress would put me in her basket and carry me to her cave where she eats all the bad little kids that she's collected. I always laughed at him when he told me that story, but still listened when I was younger out of paranoia.

"Have you heard about our Spirit Warriors?" His voice becomes soft. "About imprinting."

I give him an odd look. "Of course, grandma always makes sure to tell me that one whenever I'm over for some reason." She was oddly insistent about it, and stressed certain parts of the story trying to imply something I didn't quite understand.

I notice his hand is shaking and give him a worried glance. "Are you okay Seth? What's wrong?"

He sends a wobbly smile my way, his eyes serious. "Do you trust me?"

The question leaves me with an unsettled feeling. I know some part of me doesn't, the part that still feels like this is all a joke to him. He's never given me a reason to doubt him, but he's just too good to be true. I mean, even if he was ugly and malformed and looked like some kind of rodent I would be lucky to have him.

He never talks badly about anybody, even when they really deserve it. Whenever his friends need him he's always there. He gives so much, and never ask for anything in return.

I really do want to trust me, but he's just too good to be true.

"I trust you a lot," I decide on.

His face falls, reading between the lines. "But you don't trust me completely." Seth breaths out loud, rubbing a cheek with his hand. His eyes settle on mine, a daring look to them. "Tell me your deepest secret, and I'll tell mine. It has to be something good though," he bargains.

I grimace, turning away from him. I can't tell him that, because my biggest secret is my mother's death. No sane person would believe me. My dad doesn't even believe me.

"Oh come on Ara, you can do this."

I give him a small, timid smile. Grandma's right. My name should be _Shipaya'wa_. "You go first."

He shakes his head, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back. "I have a big secret. Do you?"

"Yes," I say immediately. His can't be bigger than mine.

He frowns. "Why don't you trust me? Have I done anything?"

"You've done too much," I whisper. "Been too kind and understanding." I pull my hand out of his, uncomfortable with the conversation. But Seth places it back in his stubbornly.

"Let's get this straight. You don't trust me because I'm too _nice_?" Well when you put it that way I sound like a jerk. "Ara… I'm really trying. Really, really trying. I want you to be happy, I want you to feel safe. But it's like no matter how hard I try it doesn't matter."

Immediately I feel horrible, because I'm making what I view as one of the greatest people in the world miserable. "I'm sorry. Okay, I'll trust you. What do you want me to do?"

He appears hopeful. "Tell me your secret."

"My… secret?" I pronounce hesitantly. "My secret is, is that I'm crazy." I nibble on my bottom lip and stare at the ground. I can't look at him right now. A hand tugs my chin up. I fight it at first, but give in. Seth stares into my eyes.

"Ara you may be a few things, but you're not crazy. Why would you think you're crazy?"

Seth has put up with a lot of stuff with me. He always keeps a level head and manages to calm me down. Maybe this is it. Maybe telling him this is my last protective wall I have against him.

"My mom is dead," I finally whisper. At his confused expression I answer, "And no, I'm not saying that is what makes me crazy. What makes me crazy is I saw it, I was there. My mom, she was murdered." He already knew my mom was dead, but when he noticed it was a touchy subject he left it alone.

"I'm so sorry Ara," he whispers. "I-" He hesitates, clutching my hand harder and getting closer to me. I take a shaky breath in, an awkward laugh coming out of my throat.

"My therapist has been telling me that seeing what I saw was some form of protective mechanism. Either that or I didn't see the animal properly. But I saw it! I looked straight into its eyes," I say wildly. I begin to quiet down soon after, staring down at my hands folded in my lap. "But after all this time I'm beginning to wonder if everyone is right. Maybe my brain made something up and something even worse happened. I don't know."

He doesn't say anything, only rubs my back and watches me with a worried expression.

"Some kind of wolf ate her, killed her. It didn't look normal. It was a lot bigger than your average wolf." I glance at him to gauge his reaction, but it's not what I'm expecting. His face has closed off, the expression on his face hard to read and a seriousness about his movements that puts me on edge.

It makes me regret telling him.

"A large wolf?" he repeats in a business sort of tone.

"Yes," I sigh. "A wolf, only bigger. It didn't look right though. The limbs were almost stretched out, thinner than normal," I mutter as an after though. Abruptly he stands up, pacing in front of me. I stare at him feeling pitiful, because this certainly feels like rejection.

"Ara I have to go," he mutters. It's all he says before leaving me alone at the beach, sitting on a picnic bench with the breeze on my back.

Life suddenly feels a lot colder.

* * *

><p>"You say your mother always made the family decisions?" he repeats. I don't know why but somehow this always comes up in my therapy sessions.<p>

"Yes, I've told you this like five times already," I grumble out annoyed.

"How did you feel about that?"

"I don't know," I shrug. "It's just the way things were."

"You never felt… angry?" His question has me jumping in surprise, staring him in the eye for the first time since we began this session.

I don't like the look on his face.

"Why?" I sound defensive.

"Because," he says, dragging his pencil down his clip board reviewing his notes. "You have basically told me that she controlled everything in your life. You were never allowed to cut your hair, not even if you begged. You weren't allowed to ask for seconds when it came to food, only if she said you could. Talks with your father has told me that you've always been a very obedient child, and your mother always was the discipliner in the family. You weren't allowed to wander, expected to always stay by her side unless she said otherwise."

"She was trying to protect me," I defend. "The places we go aren't like here. Things can be dangerous. Why are you trying to make my mother out to be a bad person? She's good, better than I'll ever be," I defend. He's gone too far with attacking my mother.

"I'm not saying she was a bad person," he says softly. "I'm saying she had all the control, and you had none."

"Aren't children supposed to be obedient? I was doing like my mother asked!" I rage. I've never been a violent person, but I really want to hit him. I've been having a bad week. Seth has been gone all week, he doesn't even turn up for school. I even sucked it up and asked one of his friends about him, but I never got a straight answer. Dad left to Guatemala for a dig three days ago, and grandma is wrapped up in tribal stuff. I'm all alone and I have no one and I come here and this man is attacking the one great thing in my life.

I march up to him, pointing my hand in his face furiously. "My mother was a great person, better than you'll ever be!" I spit viciously. He calmly puts his clip board down, grabbing my hand and placing it at my side with such composure that I'm too surprised to do anything.

"I don't deny that. Anyone that knew her always says the same."

"My mother never abused me, she's never even hit me before."

"I know, you've told me before," he says in that calm, even tone.

"Then why would you think that!" I cross my arms on my chest, glaring at him. "Let me see the clip board. I want to see the clip board," I demand.

He picks it up, unruffled, and hands it over to me. I turn around and walk to the edge of the room, ready to read all the secrets he's written about me. As I go on I begin to have trouble breathing. At first I'm in denial, but the further I get into it I realize there's a truth to each statement.

_Ara is having trouble adjusting._

_Ara has depended on numbers since childhood._

_Ara began her counting for control?_

_Ara stopped being angry about having no decisions around seven and shortly started counting numbers afterwards._

_Whenever Ara's mother asked her to do something she would start to count._

_Ara's OCD started out of a need to control her life._

The last line is underlined and circled, written in bold. I take a shaky breath in, feeling the need to count again.

"One. Two. Three. Four," I whisper in an unstable voice, slightly hysterical. When I'm calm enough to turn around I do, slowly bringing my gaze up to his. His eyes show understanding. I don't want it.

"I love my mom," I repeat. "She was a very good person."

"Yes," he agrees. "She was."

"Then why are you saying I'm crazy because of her? She didn't mentally or physically scar me! Every night when I was little she tucked me in and placed a kiss on my forehead! She'd read to me until I fell asleep! She held me in her arms and let me sleep with her whenever there was a thunderstorm because I was scared! Sometimes she gave her meal to the poor, deciding to starve that day so that the little child she gave it to could have a real meal for once. My mom isn't some horrible person like you're making her out to be! " My voice breaks on the last part and a wave of tears fall down my face. I say all this hoping to prove him wrong, but it just makes me feel desperate in the end. Before I even know what I'm doing I am sobbing on the floor, gently rocking myself back and forth. A hand places itself on my back, his hand. I look up through watery eyes to stare at him.

"Your mother was a great woman. I know just like you that everything she did was out of love and to protect you. I think you knew that too, which is why you always listened." I sniffle, wiping my nose with a hand. He reaches over to give me a tissue and I grab it. "Your mother did everything to protect you. I asked your father about the hair thing once and he explained. Some cultures view woman with short hair as disgraced. They would treat you differently than they would a woman with long hair. That was why she didn't allow you to cut your hair. She made sure you didn't wander off because she knew if she did she would never see you again, so she held onto you with an iron fist and made sure you knew to never leave her side. Everything your mother did was with love. This doesn't make you bad either. You had no control and you wanted some. That's normal. Everyone wants a little control. Even if you didn't realize it, counting was your form of control."

"Then why did it get so bad when my mother died? Wouldn't it of gotten better? There would be no one there to control me," I deny.

"Ara, I think that moment was the least amount of control you've ever had in your life," he says passionately. It's the first time I've ever seen him with any real type of emotion, and it takes me aback. "That was all that it took to push you from the precipice. You were healthy before, you just had a little quirk with numbers. I think if that attack had never happened you would not have gotten this bad. Sometimes all it takes is one moment, one little push, and then you lose that ledge."

I stay quiet, thinking about his words. "How do I find the ledge again?" My voice is pitiful, childlike and unsure.

"Slowly, steadily, calmly. You cannot rush it. Take control of things. Tell your dad you want bacon instead of toast. Walk on side of the street _you_ want. Now I'm not telling you to disregard everyone, I'm just saying don't be afraid to tell people what you want."

We sit in silent, only my sniffling filling the air.

"Dr. Rolph, I don't take my medicine. My mother always said medicine was bad for you," I admit.

To my surprise he laughs, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Well Ara, I can definitely say I'm not too surprised about that."


	8. Understandings and Stones

Just in case everyone didn't notice one of my comments on the last chapter, this story will now be twelve chapters instead of eleven because of one of my readers pointing something out to me. :)

Don't forget to review! I have a lot of readers but very few reviewers.

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><p>I didn't tell my dad what happened in that therapy room. I don't want him to think mom did anything wrong. She didn't, she did what she thought was best. I understand that, and I think Dr. Rolph does too. I don't know if anyone else will, so I decide to not tell anyone at all.<p>

At first it's hard taking control of things. I'm not used to it. One morning I decided to voice to my dad I that wanted oatmeal instead of cereal. My voice was quiet, almost unable to be interpreted, but he did hear it. His brows raised at first but he nodded, pulling out a packet of oatmeal instead of cereal. If I were honest I would say I'd rather have cereal, but that didn't matter because I had taken the first step. I took control.

It felt good, and every bite of that oatmeal was better because of it. Inspired, I decided to try it out at school. When the lunch lady automatically goes to spoon out some green beans I stop her, pointing to the corn beside it. I'm still counting, but I'm feeling a lot less anxiety. It's a step in the right direction.

Seth finally makes an appearance in my life. His eyes tell me he's sorry as he sits down next to me at lunch, but I don't care. It's _my_ decision if I want to be friends with him. He left me for a week, at a place where I felt vulnerable, and he didn't even try to explain anything afterward.

"I'm sorry for disappearing like that Ara," he whispers. "Something came up."

"What came up is you decided that I really am crazy," I bite out. "Now you're back so I can only guess you want to pretend I didn't tell you what I did."

"No, I'm here to tell you my secret."

My eyes widen. I'd forgotten about the whole exchange truthfully. I'd had other things on my mind when he left. Our relationship is confusing at this moment, but for now I think I'll go along.

I prop my chin up in my hands, staring at him thoughtfully. "Really? Don't tell me unless it's a good one." I smile and close my eyes, teasing him with the words he threw at me.

"It's a good one."

I arch an eyebrow. "Really? What is it?" His hand on my arm startles me into opening my eyes.

"Skip school with me? Please?"

My therapist told me to start doing things that I wanted to do, but I'm pretty sure he wasn't talking about skipping school.

"I don't know," I hedge, sticking my spork into my food with no real aim to eat it. Today they didn't even try to disguise how processed the food is.

"Is she coming?" I jump when I see one of his friends next to us. I move out of my relaxed pose and back up nervously. His friend gives me a sort of grimace when he notices my reaction.

"I'm working on it Collin," he mumbles, almost too low for me to hear.

"Why do you want me to skip school?"

"To tell you the secret," Seth mumbles.

I don't understand why we have to leave. Why can't he tell me here?

"Can we wait until later? I've been waiting this long anyways."

"I was working something out," he mutters. His eyes plead with mine. "Please? Come with me? I have to tell you. It's really important."

Skipping school is definitely bad, and my mother would have given me the talking of my lifetime if I ever did it when she was alive. Not that I really had a chance doing that when she was, being home schooled and all. "My dad?" I hesitate.

"Don't tell him," Collin suggest.

I grimace. I always told my parents everything. I couldn't imagine keeping this from him for long. "Okay?" I agree hesitantly.

Seth nods, grabbing my hand and pulling me out into the hallway. Collin follows and I realize most of Seth's friends aren't in school today. Only two of the freshman in my grade are. One of them takes a class with me. He's hovered since being friends with Seth, even sitting down with me once when we had to partner up with someone for a project.

"Are you alright?" Seth asks once he sneaks us outside. I begin counting stones as we walk, clutching tightly to Seth's hand.

"Fine," I mutter distractedly, staring hard at the ground in an attempt to see all the stones. The walk is a little longer than I expected and after ten minutes I begin feeling like the character in some horror movie that is walking to her death. "Um, how far do we have to walk?"

Seth looks back at me, his usual grin not making an appearance. Instead he looks as if he's going to be sick. "We're almost there."

Yeah, that's not creepy at all.

He suddenly stops and looks at me with an odd expression. "Are you counting your steps?"

I blink. Then I blink again. I open my mouth, and then close it.

I didn't count my steps.

A flutter of anxiety hits me, but I calm down almost instantly. "Seth, I didn't count my steps!" I say with a dopey grin.

A look of shock passes over his face before he grabs me up and twirls, laughing with me.

"I counted stones, but I didn't count steps. That's an improvement right?"

"That's a big improvement," he agrees with that smile I love on his face. Collin is standing awkwardly to the side. He probably has no clue what we're talking about, but then Seth and Collin share this knowing look that makes me suspicious.

I leave it be though. If Seth has been telling the world my secrets I don't want to know. Five more minutes and we're standing in front of a log cabin, a whole bunch of his friends littering around it. I begin to feel intimidated, but Seth puts his arm around me and it makes me feel warm and fuzzy so I forget why I even felt that way.

"Ara, these are my friends." He points to each one, telling me the name and some odd fact about them. I'm usually pretty good with names, so I think I can remember them all.

"Seth is this your secret? This is a horrible secret," I say in dismay. Laughter starts up around me and I stare at them in confusion.

"No, no. This isn't my secret. They're going to help me tell you my secret. It's theirs too."

My nose twitches and I lean over to whisper to him. "Seth if it's to tell me that you and your friends are on drugs don't tell me that. If my grandma or dad asks then I'll have to tell them. I can't lie." Seth stares at me in shock before snorting out loud. The guys are trying not to laugh either, kicking at the dirt awkwardly and trying to keep their expressions blank. But there should have been no way for them to be able to hear me.

I shrug to myself. Maybe I was louder than I thought.

Seth brings me over and sits me down on the steps, holding both my hands in his and kneeling on the ground. "Ara I want you to promise me you won't leave until I'm finished. Promise no matter how crazy I sound not to go." He rubs my hands, peering up at me.

"I promise," I agree softly. He's so serious. He's almost never this serious. It's scaring me.

"Do you remember what you told me about the animal?"

Immediately I peer around at the faces surrounding me and look down. "You told them?" I whisper, hurt evident in my voice.

"Ara it's not like that."

"I trusted you," I whisper. I pull my hands out of his. I wanted to think everything between me and him was real. I should have gotten the hint after he disappeared without a trace for a week. "What is all of this? Some sort of joke?"

"Ara please," he begs. "You promised you wouldn't leave."

I stare levelly at him before bringing my gaze to the ground and nodding. I can't believe I trusted him. I'm so stupid. I blink, refusing to cry in front of him. He may be able to tell he hurt me, but he'll never see my tears. He places his hand on my chin to bring my eyes back to his and holds it there. I don't want him to touch me, but I'm just too tired to fight him off.

"The animal you saw, I looked into it. I had to check something and I was right. Ara, was it dark out when the animal attacked you." I nod my head yes, because I'm not certain how well my words will come out. I'll play along to this, because I can't do anything else but that. "Was it a full moon?" My brows draw up in confusion. Surely he's not saying what I think he's saying. This is all just some joke to him. I knew everything was too good to be true. I blink back tears pulling my chin out of his hands and leaning away from him.

"Hurry up whatever you have to say. I promised I'd stay until the end," I mumble to the ground.

"Please look at me Ara," he whispers. I don't respond. He puts a little more distance between us and sighs.

"I'm going to try to get straight to the point. I'm going to guess the full moon is true too. You're not crazy. Your mind isn't doing some mumbo-jumbo stuff to protect you from what happened. That really did happen Ara. Werewolves are rare, but they're real."

"I suppose that I should feel better after hearing that right?" I ask bitterly.

Seth treks on, ignoring my statement. "This is the part that gets tricky. Do you remember our legends? About being spirit warriors?"

"Yes, I've told you that before."

"What if I said they were true, and they they're still around today."

I peer over at him, arching a brow. "I would ask spiritually or physically." Grandma told me about guardians. Maybe he has a guardian or something.

"What if I said both?" He takes my hand in his and this time I let him. "Our history, it's real. At least the Spirit Warriors part is. My friends and I are living it. It's why we're all so big and reclusive. We don't want everyone to know."

On some level this makes sense sense to me; but how in any way is this logical? So maybe Seth has a few quirks. Maybe he eats a lot more than he should be able to, maybe he can hear and see better too. That doesn't add up to being a Spirit Warrior.

Does it?

My breathing increases, but Seth is already a step ahead of me. "Ara look at me. Look into my eyes." I take a ragged breath in and stare into Seth's eyes. They were warm eyes, calm like a summer day. "Breathe Ara, it's okay. It's fine, nothing is going to hurt you," he promises, putting his forehead on mine and pushing my hair out of my face.

"Don't lie to me," I finally get out.

"I'm not Ara, I'm not. I wouldn't lie to you. Not ever."

"Promise?"

"I promise," he answers softly, pulling me into his lap and rocking me back and forth. When I calm down I see everyone but two people have left. I pull my head off of his chest and carefully get out of his lap. I'm a bit embarrassed after that.

"Show me. I want you to show me," I demand. His face gets stiff but he nods. Collin darts into the woods. A few moments later a cracking noise fills the air, and then a grey snout pops out. A wolf bigger than anything that should be possible comes out. It appears playful, jumping back and forth and yipping in the air, but that doesn't stop the flash back from coming.

"Ara it's okay. It's not a werewolf. We're not werewolves. Sometimes we refer to ourselves as that, but were not. We're just people that happen to shift into wolves. It could have been anything, but it ended up being a wolf."

"How?"

"You know the stories, you told me so yourself. _Dokibatt_ and _K'wa'iti_ created the first Quileute's out of wolves. We lost the ability to shift and didn't get it back until we encountered the Cold One's.*"

"Cold ones?" I stutter out.

"Don't worry about that right now Ara," he mutters.

I moan, the sound deep in my throat. I tear my gaze into the forest, counting the tress.

"One. Two. Three. Four. Five," I whisper. He sighs loudly, but refrains from saying anything.

"I'm sorry Ara, I didn't want to frighten you. But you had to know."

"Why?" I gasps out between numbers.

"I'm not telling you until you calm down Ara."

"You don't hurt people?"

"No, we protect them. We keep La Push safe so that blood suckers, er, the Cold One's, don't kill our people."

"You protect us?"

"Yes Ara. We're here to help, not hurt. We're not like werewolves. Werewolves have no control over themselves during the full moon. They're normal people who have gotten infected by another werewolf."

"That's horrible," I whisper. He makes a neutral sound, not agreeing or disagreeing.

Everything seems so clear now from that night. The torment and sorrow, all the pain in the creature's eyes as we locked gazes. I want to hate that creature but I can't, because it's just as much of a victim as my mother is.

"Is there any way to help werewolves?" Seth pulls his head back and looks at me as if I've lost my mind. "I mean, to make them sane or normal during the full moon?"

"If there is I never heard of it. No one has ever tried to help them though. It's hard to help something that's so uncontrollable and dangerous."

"Are there a lot of werewolves?"

"I think there used to be. There used to be a lot in Europe, but the Cold One's have almost hunted them into extinction. Vampires and werewolves have always been enemies."

"Vampires?"

He mutters a curse under his breath. It's the first time I've ever heard him do such a thing and it startles me out of my panic enough to ask another question. "Are you enemies with the Cold One's?"

"Yes, but we're better prepared that werewolves. We can shift whenever we wish and get to keep our strength, speed, hearing, sight; everything. We get it every day of the week, twenty-four seven."

I lay my head on his chest before pulling back again. "Why did you tell me all of this?"

It's clear he wants to say something. It's on the tip of his tongue. Determination fills his face and he asks, "The imprinting legends, you know them also?"

"Yes." He stares at me, his brows furrowed and eyes hopeful. I first feel confusion, but then I get it.

"It's all real?" I whisper. He only nods, swallowing deeply.

Everything begins to click in place. Seth suddenly taking an interest in me. Why he sticks around even though it's more of a hassle than anything. The look he sometimes has in his eyes when he watches me. The way he always seems to touch me.

His gaze tells me everything I need to know. That I, Amara Onawa, am Seth Clearwater's imprint.

I'm going to be sick.

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><p>Notes:<p>

*- I kind of combined SM's version of the Quileute legends along with the real ones. The Quileute's say Dokibatt and K'wa'iti created the Quileute from wolves and they were able to shift, but SM said the first wolf shifted because of the cold ones. I kind of combined them and it seemed to work.


	9. Control and Lies

Thanks to everyone that follows, favorites, or reviews!

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><p>It seems getting imprinted on is not a good thing for people who have OCD about control. When you get imprinted on that's not exactly control, it's more like the opposite.<p>

On the one hand I was sort of happy. Seth was real. He wasn't going to hurt me and I'd never have to worry about that. But on the other, it feels like I don't have a choice. I tried to keep that opinion to myself because Seth didn't get a choice either and it doesn't seem to bother him.

"Grandma what are imprints supposed to do?" I'd found it easier asking all my questions to grandma. Somehow she knew the next time I came over that Seth had told me everything even though he claimed that no one said anything to her.

"Well, take care of their wolves is what." Thunder goes off in the distance and grandma cackles loudly. "_Tistilal_ must have gotten a good catch today."

I smile amused, shaking my head at her. _Tistilal_ means Thunderbird in English. The Thunderbird is a large bird in our culture, able to carry a whale. It's said when thunder goes off it means the Thunderbird has gotten a great catch because its wings are straining to keep its prey. Its wings makes thunder with each great flap.

My smile fades just as quickly as it came.

"Grandma? Do you think if I pray to the sun and _Tsikáti*_ that mom will be okay?" Nerves make me tighten the grip on my mug and bring it to my mouth, the temperature of the hot chocolate a bit too high to really taste anything.

"So you do wish to take on our religion?"

Our legends are real. They stand in front of me every day. I want my mother to be at rest and not in some type of purgatory. I believe in what we worship, more than anything else.

"_Ipa**_ do not worry. We do not damn out kin. If you believe what we believe your mother will be waiting for you with open arms."

I smile, tears of happiness coating my eyes. My mother did not deserve to die the way she did, but at least in death she is at peace.

"Go to sleep my _ipa,_ you cannot go home tonight. It is raining too hard for that. I will call your father and tell him."

"Thank you grandma," I whisper, grabbing a blanket and laying down on the couch. I feel at ease for the first time since mom died. Tiredness claws at my back and before I know it I'm fast asleep.

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><p>Third POV<p>

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><p>Grandmother Onawa sat gently swaying in her rocking chair while stirring her tea. She stares at her sleeping granddaughter on the couch, watching her mouth slightly open and face go lax. Grandmother Onawa grins when she hears the light snores coming from her.<p>

An almost panicked knock at the door pulled her out of her reverie and she hobbles over to answer it. Young Seth sat at the door. He was probably worried about his mate.

"Ara is here, she is fine," Onawa says as she opens the door. Immediately Seth relaxes, taking a deep breath in and rubbing his face.

"I was worried, I didn't see her get home."

She smiles at him, her eyes practically glowing. "I know."

Seth sat down at the small circular table for four. He almost took up two spots himself. One of his older, bigger brothers definitely would. Seth watches as his mate sleeps, a soft look in his eyes.

"She has been afraid," the grandmother tells him.

"I know, I try to help her but I don't think I do a very good job." He gives a helpless shrug.

"She worries for her mother's soul often. I put that to rest tonight." Grandmother Onawa gave a curt, satisfied nod. Seth pulls his gaze from his imprint to the older woman, curiosity in his eyes.

"What did you tell her?"

"That her mother would be waiting in the land of our ancestors with open arms."

Seth's face shows confusion. "Was her mother Quileute?"

"No."

"Was her mother's heart Quileute?"

The old woman hesitates, then responds. "No."

"Did she act Quileute? Worship like the Quileute? Anything?"

"Not at all."

"Then why did you tell her that? You can't do that to her. It will only hurt Ara."

"Compared to what?" she says sharply. "She isn't hurt now? All she thinks about is that. She's trying to find religion to save her mother's soul, and that's not how it works. You and I both know that. She'll have eternity to mourn her mother's soul. Give her this life free of that anguish."

The man shows pain at her words, but nods in agreement. "I can only hope that she doesn't find out."

The woman let out a cackle, shaking her head in amusement. "Do you know how few follow the Quileute religion? Most of our people know the culture and legends, maybe even some of the language, but not our religion. Less than a handful of people outside the wolf pack worship the Quileute ancestors and the creators. She will not know as long as you make certain of that."

The girl turns in her sleep, silencing them both. She groans softly, before letting her face relax into a look of contentment. Both the young and the old remained quiet, the old woman continuing her rocking while the young man watches the girl with an unreadable look on his face. The only noise in the room is the creaking of the old house they sat in as the wind howled against it.

The withered old woman brought the tea to her lips and made a sigh of contentment.

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><p>Notes: I used the words before but just in case you forgot. I know I did.<p>

_Tsikáti*_- universe

_Ipa**_- child


	10. Punishment and Mirrors

Two more chapters until this is finished! Don't forget to review!

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><p>"Your anxiety has been better?"<p>

"Loads better."

"Will you agree to take medicine yet?"

"Nope," I say, drawing out the "P."

"How much do you count now?"

"Every day. But sometimes I don't count all my steps, I count other things. It's getting better."

"You're taking control of things?"

"Yep, I asked for the black pen instead of the blue one my teacher was handing to me."

He makes a noise of understanding, nodding his head. I twirl around in his seat, watching the ceiling. He let me sit in his chair today and I've been taking as much advantage of it that I can. Dr. Rolph is reviewing his notes, leisurely flipping between pages. He seems just as at home on the guest chair as he would be at his desk.

"Do you still have trouble speaking to people?" he asks.

"Sometimes I don't know what to say so I don't say anything at all and I feel all awkward and everything," I shrug out.

"But… you never felt that way when talking to kids on the digs right? At least you never mentioned it."

I'm surprised to realize that he's right. I was never awkward around them. We couldn't even understand each other but we were never awkward.

"Do you find that unusual?" he continues.

"Yeah, I mean wouldn't it make more sense to feel more comfortable around people that speak the same language as me?"

"For some," he admits. "But they weren't raised like you. The answer, I think, is simple. There are no expectations." I stop my twirling to stare at him.

"No expectations?" I repeat, not understanding.

"Yes, it's hard for people to expect anything out of you when you can't understand each other. It's a simple relationship with one that you cannot understand, clear rules. Words can over complicate things, and that makes you nervous."

So maybe my therapist isn't _completely_ useless. He's figured out things about me that I never would have caught on to. The session ends shortly after, and this is the first one that I stayed the whole entire time for.

"The school called saying you missed three classes one day," my dad mutters under his breath when we get to the car. "I'll have to call and tell them that it was a mistake."

I turn my face to him, startled. I know exactly what he's talking about. I didn't think they would call home. "Uh. Dad? I skipped school one day." His face turns to one of shock, his jaw dropping and his eyes comically wide. I would laugh in any other situation. He closes his mouth, and his eyes race back and forth as if unsure what to do. "Do you want me on punishment?" I suggest.

He turns slightly towards me. "Is that what parents do? I never got in trouble when I was younger and your mother always handled stuff like this."

"Yeah, dad. They put kids on punishment, like no phone or TV or stuff."

"But you don't use those things anyways."

He's right.

"Then grounded in my room? For two weeks?"

"Deal," he agrees, glad to have that over with. He clears his throat, glancing to me. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"Me and Seth are kinda sorta dating?" I say immediately. I'm not sure what we are anymore. We're not exactly friends, but we're not dating either.

"Well Ara, there's no sorta about dating. You either are or you aren't." His eyes stay on the road. He's always been a careful driver, never speeding or going over the speed limit. My mother was the same way.

"Then we're not dating?" I say sheepishly.

He sighs, appearing tired by the conversation. "I suppose I should do the dad talk with him."

"What do you tell him during the dad talk?"

"I don't know, things like treat my daughter right and take care of her."

I think about it. "Shouldn't he know to do that already? No dad wants their kids hurt."

"It's a tradition," he says simply. "All dad's do it."

A tradition? I think I saw it on TV once, some man bullying a boy that his daughter was dating. "Are you going to be mean to him?"

"Should I?" He cocks an eyebrow at me and wiggles it, making me laugh.

"Do you even know how to be mean?"

"Good point, I'll try my hardest." A look of determination falls across his face.

"Maybe stern. Try stern dad, you'll never look mean."

"How is this for stern?" He tries out an expression, his brows furrowing into a "V" and his mouth tilted more down than up.

"You look sad dad."

"I give up," he grumbles. "I'll just use some snazzy words and hope for the best."

I giggle at him, grabbing his arm and hugging it. "I love you dad."

"I love you too Ara."

The next day at school I decide to straighten out exactly what Seth and I are. Dad is right. I can't be stuck in an in between, and now that he's pointed it out it's all I think about.

"Seth, what are we?" I ask hesitantly.

"We're whatever you want to be," he answers immediately. "I told you before Ara that whenever you're ready for something more to tell me and I'll be here."

I had forgotten about that. It seems so long ago.

What do I want? It feel obvious at first. I want to be with Seth. But just the thought of being with Seth makes me nervous and sick to my stomach. I can't go back and forth on him, jumping in and out of a relationship because I'm afraid to be with him. But I'm not scared of him, more like what would change when we start dating. I like what we are now. There are no questions, and I know what is expected of me. I don't know how much of that would change with a relationship. Seth deserves more than me tugging him back and forth as I figure out what I want.

With my decision made I reach over and grip his hand in mine, holding it tight.

"Seth, I want to be in a relationship with you. But not yet. How can I be in a relationship when I can't even control myself? When I am able to control my anxiety I'll be with you. I know you want more, but I know I'll only hurt you at this point. You're important to me, and I don't want to hurt you."

He nods as if he could accept this, but I could tell he was unhappy with my verdict.

It could take years for me to get better. He knew this. I knew this. But it was something I had to do. I couldn't just give him all my pretty parts and expect him to make sense of them. The jagged pieces are part of me too. And until I could heal them; wrapping them with duct tape, gluing the fragments, and polishing them until they shined; we couldn't be together.

It didn't mean that I would ever be perfect. My mirror would always have scratches and lines and chips in it.

But it could be whole.


	11. Past and Present

Here's the bonus chapter one of you wanted! I hope you all like it! Thanks for the reviews everyone!

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><p>Elder Onawa POV<p>

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><p>Mary Onawa opened her eyes slowly, the brightness of the sun blinding her.<p>

Not that many people knew her first name was Mary. She was almost positive her fellow elder's did not even remember that was her first name. Mary almost seemed as if it were a past life of hers, buried in the colorful decades of life. The name just didn't fit anymore.

She had been only Onawa since her three month spirit journey in the wilds at fifteen. She remembered her mother being angry at her when she came back, fear skewing her mother's emotions about. Onawa had been gone for three months after all, and her mother thought her daughter had died. Only hope pushed a funeral off, and only Onawa's spirited words before her journey held off a search party.

Onawa hurried to the kitchen. Her right knee pained her, giving her a slight limp as she walked. She had broken it eleven years back and since then it had given her pain.

She knew how children thought, she was once a child too. People seem to look at her and forget that, as if she had been born old and ripe with age. She remembered picking wild flowers for her mother every summer and spring after church. Her mother always put them in her only vase, white porcelain with a chip missing on the top, treasuring them as if they were the finest flowers she'd ever seen.

They weren't. Onawa specifically remembered sometimes picking weeds because she felt like they went nice with the stringy flowers she found.

Onawa remembered when the town only had two cars. One belonged to the Lenold's, who had always been richer than everyone else. The other was owned by the Clearwater's. Harry's father had gotten a decent job off tribal grounds despite the racism back then. It was a surprising feat, one the whole tribe was impressed by.

Onawa also remember the first day she met her husband. She was six, and he was nine. She saw him climbing a tree and asked to join him. He told her spitefully that girls aren't supposed to climb trees, and she responded this girl did. He assessed her with clear, calculative eyes before telling her to come on up.

It ended up that she was the only woman her husband ever respected in his entire lifetime, except his mother of course. Onawa had heard more than once that her husband was a grumpy old man. He found girls weak and useless, the only redeeming quality being the ability to create life. One of the reasons he married Onawa was because his dad said if he was going to marry someone it should at least be someone he could respect. They didn't even love each other at first. They got married when she was sixteen and he nineteen, because that was the age society deemed proper and anything afterward left you gossiped about or hiding some type of disformity. Onawa didn't want to hear their voices, and neither did her husband. She figured if she had to marry someone they should at least have a back bone.

They didn't sleep together the night of their wedding, making clear the divide between them. They wanted to go on like before, as if nothing ever happened and they were still good friends. It took them more than a year to love each other, and almost three before they finally made love. They had given up on having a child by the time she was thirty-one. She just couldn't seem to get pregnant. How she _hated_ the way the tribe liked to gossip about it! When the doctor told her she was to have a baby at thirty-six. It had shocked her. It was almost unheard of to have your first child that late in life, and the doctors gave her so many warnings that throughout her whole pregnancy all she could feel is fear.

The birth of her son was hard on her. It seemed like she wasn't meant to have children. The doctors told her afterwards she would not be able to get pregnant again. But both of them didn't care, because they never expected the miracle in their arms anyways.

Her son was a delight in her life, a ray of sunshine she never thought could exist. He made her smile when times were hard, and helped her push through every barrier that popped up in life. When her husband lost his job in 1961 and they could barely scrape enough up on the table to feed them and pay the bills. When she lost her mother, the only person besides her husband that she had ever confided to. Every time a hole was created, her son would fill it with his laughter and happiness. He began to change as he got older, but still knew how to brighten her day. Sometimes, after a particularly stressful day, she would sit at the table with her head supported by her hands, staring down as she tried to figure out what to do with her life. He would come home from school and catch onto her mood, wrapping his arms around her and telling her that it would be alright.

Her son leaving the reservation broke her heart. Her only son, the being she had poured all her love into, was leaving her. She couldn't think of it, and when he left she threw herself into the tribal culture making a name for herself. A real name, a name that meant something.

Her husband dying ten years ago broke her heart again. She knew they were soul mates, despite the rough start they had. Both of them had been full of youth then, stubborn and sure that they knew everything about the world that they needed to. She put herself even further into the culture of the tribe with his death. If she had to be without her husband, she had to at least make it worthwhile.

And now, her son had come home again, along with her granddaughter. Onawa could admit that Amara was not what she had expected. The last time she had seen the girl was when she was five. Amara was different now. Gone are the rosy cheeks and carefree grin. In its place a withdrawn young woman that seemed to be prone to nervous fits.

She wanted to fix Amara, but she couldn't. Amara was something she could not understand no matter how hard she tried. She settled on being there for Amara.

When Onawa figured out Seth Clearwater had imprinted on her granddaughter, she was overjoyed. Seth was a sweet boy, one that would be patient and kind to her granddaughter. Amara needed a boy like that in her life. She needed help seeing the good things in life, and Seth would show her with ease.

Onawa sat down on her rocking chair on the porch, humming an old tune from when the tribe was vibrant with life. Before she was born, before her own mother was too. Back when they fished for their meals and celebrated the birth of each babe with a gathering. When they danced around fires and prayed to the sun,_Tsikáti_, and their guardians. But those days were gone, and she knew they would never come back. Not in this modern world that has given a new life to their young.

She wondered what her granddaughter was doing with poor Seth. She seemed to dangle him about, holding his hand and hugging him tightly to her chest. But then she'd push him away. She always did. They both seemed happy with the arrangement, but it was the oddest relationship she had ever seen. Young one's are so odd now.

Onawa had no patience for this kind of thing. She wanted her granddaughter to have her happy ending already, much like Onawa did sixty-nine years ago.


	12. Kisses and Sleep

Here is the final chapter! The other Seth POV is in here! Although I don't think you'll be happy with it.

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><p>True to his word, Seth waited.<p>

We laughed, we cried. We talked, we avoided. We learned about each other, and even taught the other about the most important things in life. We were happy, we were sad. We were every in-between you could think of.

But most of all, we were us. Simple, wonderful us.

During this time I found religion. I went on my own spiritual journey for two weeks and found my guardian, a fox. It took a lot of convincing to get Seth to leave me alone in the wilderness. He said I could do other things, like sit at A-Ka-Lat and meditate among my ancestors. But I had already tried that. I'd tried it many times and didn't even get one vision. I decided to follow my grandmother's path after a bit of counseling from her and take the harder path.

It was difficult. For the sixteen days I sat out there, nine of them were filled with rain. I carried enough food for only three days. It turns out finding food in a forest is much harder than one would think. I settled on eating some sap from a tree and hoping the bush nearby was not poisonous.

On the fifteenth day I laid there that night staring at the stars, wondering what each one meant. I was starving, having finished up the bush the day before. I tried eating leaves, but threw them up. I was losing hope and was wondering maybe this was not meant to be. Maybe I just don't have a spirit animal.

It was at that moment a vision overcame me. It caused me a brief moment of panic, but when the form of a miniscule fox sat in front of me I knew what had happened.

It told me that it had been waiting for me for two years, since the day my mother died, and that from now on it would try it's best to protect me. It told me not to worry about my mother, because she is safe. It told me my suffering had only made me stronger, and until now I was not ready for this step. I learned many things that day. About him, about me, and about the world around me.

I was connected with him after that. I never had another vision again; but I felt him. Sometimes it seemed like he was lurking in the shadows, but I never actually saw him.

What felt like many years passed since I'd moved to La Push. It wasn't until my senior year of high school, three years after meeting Seth, that I knew I was ready to be with him. Seth had already graduated, being a year older than I was. He worked in Sam's business. Sam had retired from alpha the year before. Sometimes Sam still shifts, but now he's ready to age with Emily. They have a little girl named Clara. She's barely one and seems to be in her terrible two's already.

I told Seth in a simple way that I was ready to be with him. I grabbed his hand, pulled him close, and pressed my lips to his. He got the message quickly, wrapping me tightly in his arms and kissing every inch of my face with slow precision that left me wanting more.

Two years later we were married, one year after that we had our first child. We named him Harry, after Seth's father who passed away. He was always a quiet baby, barely making a sound. As he got older he became louder, but not like his younger siblings. Our second child, a girl we had in the spring, was named after my mother. She was a happy child, always laughing and running over to the Call residence to visit with Embry and Mila. Mila showed her things, like how to grow plants, and she liked to hear Mila's history stories. Our daughter was a mini Seth, innocent and naive. But unbelievably sweet and without a mean bone in her body. She always had something kind to say, and seemed to almost shield herself from anything negative.

After our third child was born Seth decided to stop shifting, wanting to age with me. Our third was another boy, who was more confused than I could ever could have been. He would hide behind me when strangers talked to him, and when he got older would blush and stay tight lipped when asked questions. He jumped at seemingly nothing, hearing things none of us could detect. He didn't remedy that until adulthood, apparently figuring everything out in college. It was a good thing too because he visited us his senior year of college and phased, our only child to do so. A vampire happened to cross La Push that day, and he had been unlucky. He took a semester off to make sure he could control any "urges" as I liked to call them, and graduated with flying colors. I could have never imagined how much college had changed him, even now as I look back on it I am amazed by it. He would have never been able to handle shifting a few years before.

Seth and I watched our children grow, sprouting higher and taller as each season passed. We held hands, lying on the cool grass and staring into each other's eyes. We tucked our children into bed, tickling their feet, and laying kisses on their foreheads.

We loved. We loved more than words could say.

Years passed by, our feelings for each other never fading. Our children left the nest, one after the other as if it was a race and a grand prized sat just across the line of independence. Our house once so loud and bustling, was now empty. It didn't take too long for our first to have grandchildren, and we stole them often, letting them race about the house with sugary drugs racing through their systems. Our daughter would always give us this disgruntled look when she went to pick them up, but she will understand one day. All of them will.

It felt like just yesterday we were kissing in the moonlight. Now I look over at my withered husband and wonder just where the time went.

"We've been married for fifty-two years Seth," I cough out, hacking my lungs into a tissue.

He gives me a small smile, his eyes watching me sadly. "I told you not to go in the cold that night. You never listen."

I shake my head at him. "I can't live my life in fear. Am I supposed to fear the cold now? I'm old Seth, not disabled."

He runs a hand through my white hair tenderly, his hands steady despite his seventy-three years of age. The beeps of the machine are clear throughout the room. I turn my head towards the ceiling, not wanting to see his face as I utter this.

"I'm not going to make it Seth."

His hand pauses, before he starts his grooming again. "Don't say that. If you say that you won't. You have to be positive."

But I know it is my time. I may only have pneumonia, something moderately easy to treat, but I can _feel_ my time is coming. I just know it. I'm too old, my body too tired. Now it is time for sleep.

I grasp his hand in mine, holding it tightly to my heart before laying a kiss on his palm. "I love you Seth. You've been so good to me all these years. I could have never done better with anyone else. You were patient with me and all the problems I had. You were always kind, and when you did say a mean word you always apologized quickly unlike me. I've loved you since ninth grade, and I always will." I bring another soft kiss to his hand and let it go. His eyes fill with tears and he scoots his chair closer to me, rubbing a hand across my cheek that is etched with age.

"I love you to Ara, more than I can ever say," he whispers, kissing my forehead. It is the last thing I hear before I fall asleep, a soft smile on my face.

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><p>Seth POV<p>

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><p>I knew the moment she began saying all those pretty little words what she was really telling me, so it was no surprise when the monitors ran flat half an hour later.<p>

An emptiness spread through my chest, but at the same time I felt at peace. I have no regrets about my life with Ara, none at all. I did everything I wanted with her, living each day as if it were my last. I'd had a full life, with more happiness than I ever thought I'd have. No, I can only feel grateful.

She taught me so many things. To not rush, because when you do you miss out on so many things. She taught me to truly love, and what it means to love someone the way I do Ara.

The nurses hurry in, along with a doctor ready to resuscitate her. I gesture for them to stop at the door. Her time is done. There is no point trying to pull her back. They understand, whispering to me that I can have as much time as I need.

I suppose I should call my children, but I can't bring myself to. I'm tired. There is no longer anything to reinvigorate me with her brightness gone. I take a shaky breath in, holding her cooling hand to my lips. Condensation is on it, the difference in temperatures between her and the room becoming more severe. I lay a few more kisses on her hand and curl up beside her.

My wife, who I love more than anything in the world.

I place my chin on her shoulder, ignoring the cool texture of her skin, and go to sleep.

It is time to go to the next life.

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><p>I'm such a baby. I'll admit I cried writing this chapter. I know people don't normally end a story like this, but it seemed to fit. Thank you all for reading, reviewing, following, and favoriting my story! I read all of the reviews and thank all of you for taking the time to do them!<p>

xoxo- wolfpackgirl92


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